


The Morning After

by Sassysugar



Category: Taylor Swift (Musician)
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, RPF, it is angsty but fluffy too in a way I guess, these tags makes it sound so scary
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-19
Updated: 2018-08-19
Packaged: 2019-06-29 21:51:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15738027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sassysugar/pseuds/Sassysugar
Summary: A fictionalized account of what happened on the morning of December 5th 2014.Don’t listen to Dancing With Our Hands Tied while reading this, just don’t.





	The Morning After

**Author's Note:**

> Since a few tumblr people were asking I decided to try my hand at writing some Kaylor and then I decided to upload it here as well as on tumblr.
> 
> This is the first fictional thing I’ve attempted to write in quite a while and the first Kaylor fanfic I’ve ever published online.  
> If fanfiction about real people isn’t your thing or if the thought makes you uncomfortable in any way I ask you not to read this, thank you.

Taylor’s head is  _pounding_ , that is the first thing she notices.

Then that her mouth is dry as a desert and finally that she is feeling slightly sick.

With a groan of familiarity at the sensations she buries her heavy head in one of the many pillows, wishing she could just fall back asleep and deal with this later.

Long fingers find their way into the singer’s blonde locks at the sound and movement signaling that she is, in fact, alive.

 _Right,_ a sleepy smile makes its way onto Taylor’s lips,  _Karlie is still here._

The model runs her fingers through Taylor’s hair a couple of times, gently trying to coax her into opening her eyes and rolling over.

Taylor pretends not to notice until the other woman finally speaks, softly. She’s considerate of her girlfriend’s state, empathic as always, even when Taylor’s pain is self-inflicted.

“Headache, sweetie?” She asks, a faint note of amusement in her voice.

Taylor just groans into the pillow again, but then finally, rolls over to meet the green eyes studying her intently.

There is a broad smile playing on Karlie’s lips, the model is seemingly endlessly entertained by this whole situation.

She’s seen the usually so poised, well-behaved Taylor Swift letting loose, dancing, yelling,  _drinking_ , in public. Her arms unapologetically snaked around Karlie all the while.

She’s seen all that.  That side of Taylor, the side that she  _knows,_ come out while outside of these four walls or in the safe company of trusted friends and she apparently finds it  _funny._

Taylor would’ve been mildly insulted if it wasn’t for the gentle affection hiding just underneath the smugness, the smugness telling her:  _I know._

 _I know what you’re really like and I love you_. Her eyes are warm and fond.

 _She thinks I’m pretty_. Taylor finds herself dazedly thinking,  _she thinks I’m pretty even right now, even like this…_

“I love you,” she says simply in greeting and Karlie’s trademark, sunshine grin looks like it’s about to split her face in two.

“I love you too; you’re so beautiful in the mornings.” Taylor can feel her face heat up and resists the urge to hide it in her hands like a blushing kid with a schoolgirl crush.

“Ugh, no,” she protests, “I’m a mess, especially today.”

“Maybe, but if you  _are_  a mess, then you’re a mess that I want.”

The older of the two feels her heart swell in her chest at the words; a year ago she’d been convinced that no one could ever want her. That she’d be better off just isolating herself from the world, never to open herself up to even the remote possibility of love ever again.

She’d thought she’d become jaded, broken beyond repair and yet now here she is, being told that she’s wanted, loved, valued.

Words do not often fail Taylor Swift, but as she lays there looking at the woman she is lucky to have, her one and only, her lifeline she finds that now is one of those rare times that they are in fact failing her, spectacularly.

Maybe it’s because she isn’t fully awake yet, or because she’s overwhelmed by the love she feels towards the woman in her bed.

Whatever the cause, in response she doesn’t speak, she leans in to kiss Karlie.

She tries to fill the kiss with all the love she’s suddenly found herself unable to express, but Karlie pulls away far quicker than Taylor would have liked. Disappointed the singer decides that perhaps her stale wine breath is worse than she’d thought and prepares to apologize.

Before she can Karlie turns serious, as if the feel of Taylor’s lips on hers somehow woke her back up to reality.

She sounds almost uncomfortable as she does her best to pose her question as light-heartedly as possible:

“…Did you mind the kiss last night?”

Taylor’s stare turns blank as she desperately attempts to force her sluggish brain to catch up to the nonsensical words coming out of her girlfriend’s mouth.

“We-you kissed me?” She asks hoarsely, stupidly, finally forced to admit she has no recollection whatsoever of the event, or much else surrounding last night, really.

_Fuck, she must’ve been a hell of a lot drunker than she’d thought._

Karlie’s features relax into amusement again; she even giggles a little as she nods her head.

“Yes, you don’t remember?” despite the laughter there is a hint of disappointment in her voice that makes Taylor’s heart sting a bit.

“Sunshine, why would I ever have minded, have you ever seen me protesting anything you do to me?”

Under normal circumstances they both would’ve at least cracked a smile at that remark, but Karlie is suddenly looking almost pained now, as if someone flipped a switch to turn off her smile and Taylor feels worry well up.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” She is almost afraid to ask and hours seems to pass as she waits for Karlie’s response.

“I thought maybe-“

“I wasn’t  _that_ out of it before we left for the show, babe…I would’ve remembered a kiss.”

“This wasn’t before…” Karlie starts and Taylor smiles, “Okay, so you kissed me when we got home, or on the way, I don’t…I don’t understand what’s…?”

“You, you  _really_  don’t remember, do you?” The other girl’s voice is small and almost childlike and suddenly, all at once Taylor understands. It’s not cold in the room and yet she’s freezing suddenly, tensing up with fear washing over her like a wave of icy cold water.

“The show” she gasped, “we-we kissed at the concert?” Her throat is tight now, as if all the air has been sucked out of the room.

Karlie nods stiffly, matching the expression Taylor can feel taking form on her own face, a bizarre mixture of alarm, defeat and a highly inappropriate desire to burst out laughing.

They have kissed in a lot of semi-public places before, cars with tinted windows, on occasions when it’s been empty, the lobby in both of their apartment buildings, away from any windows, but still.

They’ve even kissed at a few private parties held by industry people that they considered themselves safe enough around.

Never before have they kissed like this though, never this openly in a place where there had most definitely been cameras.

Taylor is feeling sick for a completely new reason, the hangover like a distant background noise to accompany her sense of overwhelming dread.

For years she’d worried about what would happen if she ever got too drunk or careless in the public company  of a girlfriend and so she’d never let it happen, but everyone fucks up eventually, right?

Seeing Karlie’s confused state of terror Taylor swallows her own fears and breathes in to speak, finally, but Karlie seems to think she needs to explain herself and thus cuts in before the singer can say a word.

“I’m sorry, it was my fault…It-it just happened, we were dancing and you were so close and I was so drunk and you didn’t stop me and you kissed me back and I know that doesn’t-“ Karlie looks like she’s on the verge of tears now and Taylor wishes intensely that she could reassure her that no one saw or cared. That no one was paying attention to them while  _The 1975_ were still playing.

Of course she doesn’t know any of that, but she wants to pretend she does, if only to wipe the worry off that pretty face.

“Tay, did we-did  _I_ mess up? Like,  _really_  mess up?”

“I don’t know.” Taylor says earnestly as she reaches for Karlie’s cheek, touching it tenderly, would-be comfortingly and tries desperately to arrange her facial expression into something that doesn’t look quite like  _shitshitshit._

She turns back to her side of the bed for a moment and grabs her phone off the bedside table to check the time.

7.45.

Swallowing hard Taylor turns back and softly says, “Kar, sweetie, you have to get to work, I’ll take care of this and let you know what the plan is. There might not even need to be a plan, we’ll-

In a futile attempt to calm both herself and her girlfriend down Taylor interrupts her own rambling and leans in to kiss Karlie, but the model jerks her head away and utters what is probably meant to be a joke, but comes out as a faint, forced whisper.

“You have wine breath!”

_As she suspected then._

Taylor gives a hollow little laugh anyway and pulls away, “Sorry,” she mumbles settling for a smile she hopes looks at least somewhat encouraging.

“Don’t worry baby, we’ve got this, it’ll be okay.”

 

* * *

 

Taylor looks down at her hands; stare at her red skin, at the places where small crescent shaped marks have been burrowed into it by her own nails. They’ll fade in a moment, they’re not as deep as they could be – have been, before – there’s no blood and they  _will_  fade.  _But that’s not the point_ , she thinks as she dries her tears with the back of her hand. The action results the complete opposite of the intended effect,  _because of course_  it does, it’s just that kind of day.

So instead of wiping her face she ends up coating it in water, effectively mixing it with the dried teardrops halfway down her cheeks.

She shivers as the water smears her cheeks; she hadn’t realized  _just_ how cold the water coming down on her from the showerhead has become until just now.

Sighing and sniveling slightly she finally gets off the shower floor, her legs stiff after several minutes spent sitting with them tightly curled up against her chest.

She turns off the shower and reaches for a towel to wrap herself up in.

Her head is still pounding and her heart is beating like the wings of a terrified little bird, but she  _does_ feel a little better post-shower, cleaner, calmer and almost okay, for a second.

She glances at herself in the mirror, sees her puffy, swollen eyes, red face and soaked bird’s nest of tight curls. She still looks tired, scared and definitely hungover, but maybe a little calmer, more collected? Or is that just how everything looks in comparison to the unruly state of her hair in the mornings _?_

 _Taylor Swift; International superstar and gay disaster_ …

 

 She tries to smile a little at the thought, but it comes out looking more like a pained grimace and she hastily turns away from the mirror.

 She should call Karlie. She should  _definitely_  call Karlie.

 

* * *

 

“Hi baby.” Karlie says the second she picks up and the sound of her voice instantly calms Taylor, “what’s up?”

“I…” Taylor starts and then trails off, unsure of how to continue. “I might’ve just had an anxiety attack in the shower…”

“Oh no, Tay, baby; what happened? I thought you were okay when I left this morning?”

“I-I was, but then Tree called and-“ Taylor swallows.

 She’s scared, she hasn’t been this scared since she was an awkward, gangly twelve-year old and first had the word “ _dyke_ ” shouted at her in the hallway.

  _They know._

That thought had repeated over and over in her head after that incident and now it was back _._

_They know, they know, they know._

“They saw us, Karlie,” she manages to say finally, “some woman took a picture, they might even have it on film.” Taylor feels her chest tighten again as she says it.

“Okay,” Karlie responds, still completely calm, so unlike the worry she’d shown earlier this morning.

 “Taylor, are you breathing? Breathe for me please…We’ll talk about this, but I want to make sure you’re not spiraling first.”

 “I’m fine,” Taylor all but barks and Karlie sighs heavily, understanding but not approving of the fact that Taylor won’t accept her coddling right now.

“Baby, I’m so sorry, I can’t believe I put us in-“

“You don’t have to do that,” Taylor interrupts, “I could’ve stopped you, we were drunk, it’s not your fault.”

“Have you seen the picture?”

“No, but Tree says it’s all over the internet, she’s doing her best to get it taken off major websites, but Karlie, I don’t know how bad it is and I’m afraid to Google…”

“Don’t Google it, sweetie, don’t. You’ll only make it worse.” Taylor nods and then, almost immediately realizes Karlie can’t see her.

“I won’t Google it,” she verbalizes the response tentatively and tries to breathe through a new wave of tightness.

There is a few seconds where none of them speak and then:

, “Tree says I’ll have to deny it…” Taylor’s voice sounds like it belongs to someone else, like it isn’t coming out of her mouth and she’s afraid at how empty and accepting  it sounds, when she says, “I think I’m gonna have to.”

“Yeah, no, that makes sense.” Karlie agrees and Taylor can tell she’s trying to sound casual, be the comforting presence she was at the beginning of this conversation, but Taylor can also tell she doesn’t like the idea of denying their love.

She thinks they shouldn’t have to, that it isn’t fair and she’s right, of course she is.

“Hey, Sunshine,” Taylor all but coos, it’s just temporary and Tree says it won’t have to be a statement or anything, a dismissing tweet is enough.”

“A dismissive tweet, great.” Karlie says unenthusiastically and it sounds like she might be holding back more things she’d like to say

“I love you.” She tries, “I love you and I’ll love you tomorrow too when I tweet out something stupid about how I’m tired of people spreading lies about my love life and-“

“It’s not a lie this time.” Karlie points out and Taylor sighs.

“No, baby-“ She starts hesitantly.

“I know,” Karlie mutters and then she sounds almost ashamed, “it’s no big deal…”

“It  _is_ a big deal,” Taylor protests, “ _you_ are a big deal, don’t you think I wish they all knew that? Only not-”

“Not like this…”  Karlie finishes for her

“Karlie, .listen to me,” Taylor pleads, a little hoarsely, but softly, hoping the tone will convey the sincerity of her message.

“No one would blame you for walking away right now, no one should have to deal with this, no one in the world, no one but…m-me, you don’t-“

There is heartbreak in Taylor’s voice, but she has to be strong, has to sound like she believes what she’s saying. She has to sound like she doesn’t want to drive over and beg Karlie on her knees to stay. She has to sound like it’s okay for her to be broken, a causality of their love, their mistake. Because it should be… _It should be, she shouldn’t be selfish enough that it’s not._   

She doesn’t realize until Karlie interrupts her that tears are streaming down her cheeks again.

“Taylor, Taylor, baby, please stop, I’m never leaving, and you know that. It’s me and you, always. This is ride or die, remember?” Taylor can do nothing but silently cry, today seems to be the day that words are, at least temporarily, no longer her thing.

 “Do you  _want_  me to leave?” Karlie asks and the question startles Taylor, strikes her as bizarre, bizarre enough to shock her back to her senses.

“No,” she sobs, her heart and voice breaking with an earth-shattering tearing noise assaulting her ears. It’s her  _heartbeat_  she realizes,

It’s the sound of her heart pounding in her ears. Is she about to pass out? Die? Scream? She doesn’t know, but she has to speak.

“No,” she tries again, “No, please don’t leave!”

“Never,” Karlie says and she sounds like she’s about to cry too.

“I love you. Shit, I love you,  _I love you_ , I love you  _so_  much.” Taylor says those three words yet again, over and over. She’s starting to sound like a demented parrot, but she doesn’t care, she needs Karlie to  _know_.

“I love you too, princess.” The way she says it tells Taylor that she does know, she knows because she feels it too.

“Do you need me to come home?” The question is unexpected and at first Taylor is tempted to respond affirmatively.

“No, you get back to work, I promised to call Tree back.”

 “Okay, I’ll see you tonight…Taylor?”

“Yes?”

“Don’t do it tomorrow.”

“What?”

“The tweet, don’t do it tomorrow, can’t you wait a few days, please?”

“Okay, maybe, but Tree says we need to stop the speculation…”

“Baby, there’s nothing in the world that could stop it.”

“I know, I just hate this feeling.”

 

* * *

 

 _This feeling_.

_Total loss of control of her own narrative. Again._

It reminds her of being fourteen, of sitting in a cramped little studio and being lectured by a total nobody supposedly holding the key to her fabulous, successful future in his hand, but there is a catch, there’s  _always_  a catch, a big one.

 

* * *

 

**2004:**

_”This is great stuff kid, really; you could go far!” The producer is smiling at her and it’s a friendly enough smile, but Taylor can tell that it doesn’t quite reach his eyes._

_It’s that smile your mom gives you when you ask her what she thinks of your horrendous macaroni art that she’ll be forced to put up on the fridge later no matter how she really feels about it._

_It’s not that the smile isn’t genuine, ‘fake’ is entirely the wrong word, but there’s something…off._

_Taylor knows what he’s about to say before he finally stops smiling and takes a deep breath._

_“I’ve gotta be honest with you though, to make it in an industry like this you’ve gotta…Ah crap, I don’t know how else to say it, you gotta hang up the chick habit, kid.”_

_Taylor swallows, careful not to show any of the irritation bubbling up inside her on her face. It’s the fourth time the man has called her ‘kid’ since she  got here, to this little cramped studio of his._

_To call it a studio is almost being too generous, it’s more like a cramped cupboard and for the first time that afternoon Taylor is aware just how hot it is in there and how her white t-shirt sticks to her skin in a way that almost makes her long for the Pennsylvanian winters of her early years. The room spins, Taylor can hear her mom who is sitting on a sunken couch behind them (in an attempt to stay out of the way and let her daughter do the talking) starts saying something in that stern voice she used when talking to Taylor’s principal back in Pennsylvania about how the other girls treated the oldest of the Swift children._

_“Stop, mom…” Taylor hears herself say, swallows, brushes some stray curls out of her flushed face and forces herself to look up and hold this man’s gaze._

_He’s sitting across from her on a shabby, red stool, almost as uncomfortable-looking as her own green one._

_He’s wearing blue jeans with holes so big they expose most of his kneecaps and a heavy, brown leather jacket over a black button-up. Taylor just barely checks her impulse to giggle at the fact that given a large hat he would look comically like a cowboy._

_She remembers his words however and the amusement fades, her blue eyes meets his brown ones and she forces them to look cold, like steel or winter. She hopes she looks resilient enough that he’ll rethink his ‘advice’ without her having to voice her opposition._

_No such luck though, and finally she has to speak up._

_“I…” She clears her throat, determined to keep her tone steady, cool, untouched by his implication._

_“I can’t write about girls?”_

_“Sorry kid, not in this business you can’t, not if you wanna be anyone.” His voice still isn’t unfriendly and she doesn’t know what possesses her to do it, but with a movement so cat-like the man doesn’t have time to react she’s gotten her guitar case off the floor and stood up hastily enough to make the stool wobble on its uneven legs._

_Part of her hates that she’s doing this, after all she could be throwing away the opportunity of a lifetime here, but it’s too late now._

_“Thank you,” she manages to say in that same cold, detached tone that she doesn’t recognize as her own voice, “I don’t think I’m interested…”_

_She can barely believe the words have left her mouth, it is as if someone else speaks for her, someone who’s angrier than Taylor can ever remember being._

_The producer looks taken aback, but stands up and stretches his hand out towards the fourteen-year old who is doing everything in her power to look just as furious as she feels._

_“I’m sorry to hear that, Taylor…” He says, using her name like they’re old pals and the sound of it on his lips makes her want to yell or spit, or both._

_“I’ll offer you my card in case you decide to reconsider after speaking to your parents.” He adds, looking at Andrea as if to say ‘control your damn kid’._

_Mom doesn’t look back with as sympatric a gaze as he probably hoped and he looks nervous now. Handing Taylor a bright green card he all but ushers them out of the room._

_She throws the card in the trash outside and before Andrea can say anything at all Taylor says, “it’s okay, mom.” In her new, grownup voice._

_Seeing her daughter’s face Mrs. Swift is suddenly struck by how heavy the guitar looks at Taylor’s side, how her eyes are full of steel, of disgust, of spite, but also of defeat and they both knows it’s not okay, not at all._

_Meanwhile Taylor makes a mental note to not sing ‘Angelina’ next time._

_She likes the song, it’s one of her best, but maybe she should start putting boys’ names in her songs? She has an uneasy feeling it’ll help her catch the attention of producers better._

_Besides Angelina, the subject of the song (and countless others) is still in Pennsylvania, at Taylor’s old school. Even if she wasn’t Taylor wouldn’t have the guts to sing to her, or even talk to her in any capacity, really._

_Boys, maybe she should sing about them next time, singing to boys who don’t exist is easier than singing to a girl who’ll never know you do, anyway…_

 

* * *

 

…And denying that you got drunk on a Thursday night at twenty five and kissed your girlfriend for everyone to see is easier than dealing with the implications of the truth.

Still though, Taylor knows that everyone knows now and Karlie’s right, there’s nothing in the world that can stop it.

No matter what they say or do from now on, they all still know. To her surprise Taylor finds that the thought of that doesn’t hold as much power as it used to.

 _Maybe it’s high time she started putting_ _girls’ names in her songs again?_

_‘Karlie’ just might sound even better sung then spoken, she decides.  
_


End file.
